LITMIR.BIZ

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when I visit my family and use the one in the village pub.’

      ‘The pub has a piano?’

      ‘Yes. It’s a bit of a mishmash really, traditional versus quirky. Chess matches on Mondays and Rock Karaoke on Wednesdays and Saturdays, live music on a Friday, but it works, you know?’

      ‘Not really.’ For an instant he looks wistful, but the expression passes. ‘But I can imagine.’ Nodding at the piano: ‘Use it whenever you want.’

      ‘Thanks.’ I don’t like that I’m touched by his suggestion. ‘I uh, think I’ll go and unpack.’

      ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He strolls over to an unmarked door tucked away in the corner.

      Grabbing my case, I follow him. When the door clicks shut behind me the room suddenly feels tiny even though it’s huge. Alex in my bedroom. Unsettling. Tempting.

      ‘Here you go.’ Oblivious to my feelings, he throws the curtains open to reveal a sensational view of the teeming port. I swing my case onto the queen-sized bed, unzip it and hover. I can’t unpack in front of him, it’s too personal.

      Alex checks his watch. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower and change for dinner.’ He starts tugging at his tie.

      ‘Right. I guess I’ll do the same. How long before I need to be ready?’

      The tie comes off and is tucked away inside a pocket. ‘Half an hour?’ He undoes his top button as he saunters past me to the door.

      I catch a glimpse of olive skin over broad collarbone with a hint of chest hair in the open neck of his white shirt. Hormones take over. He’s mouth-watering. Stop undressing. I beg silently. No, keep going. Oh, heck. His lips are moving but I’m deaf to any words. ‘Pardon?’ I ask.

      ‘I asked whether you’ll be ready for dinner on time.’

      ‘Yes, no problem.’

      ‘No problem?’ A smile plays around his mouth. ‘If you are, you’ll be the first woman of my acquaintance capable of it.’

      ‘Maybe I’m not like the other women you’re acquainted with then,’ I lift my chin, holding direct eye contact. ‘I’ll be ready,’ I glance at the slim silver watch on my wrist, ‘by eight fifteen.’ Twenty seven minutes. It’s not long but I’ll do it, just to show him.

      ‘I look forward to it.’ His smirk says he fully expects me to fail.

      It feels like I’m at the Olympics, on the starting line. I fling open my suitcase, ready for the gun to fire to begin the race.

      ‘I’ll see you soon.’ His hand is on the door handle, straight-faced but a glint of humour in his eyes.

      ‘Fine.’ Picking up my wash bag, I fight back a smile.

      ‘I’ll be waiting in the suite.’ He pulls the door open.

      ‘Perfect.’ My fingers inch towards my black stilettos.

      ‘Actually, I’ll knock for you.’

      He’s determined to not give me an extra second isn’t he? ‘Suits me,’ I say lightly. I put a hand on one hip, striving for casual, turn and manoeuvre myself so the other hand can grope around in the case behind me.

      He watches every move. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

      ‘Okay.’

      Shaking his head, he slides from the room and I spin round to my case. Just as the door swings shut, his voice echoes through the tiny gap, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

      It makes me laugh and I shake my head.

      Right. Focus. Twenty-five minutes left. I lay out minuscule black lace underwear and a favourite evening dress I packed with two others, just in case. Tight, deep-purple, strapless and with small jewel-encrusted pockets, the hem is just above the knee. It’s one of those dresses that makes you feel good, boosts your confidence. And the hotel is so posh I have to dress up.

      I pelt into the bathroom but am still able to appreciate the modern black and white tiles, the corner bath with jets and the gloriously huge walk-in shower. It’s divine. Imagine waking up to this every day. Bliss. Pulling on a shower cap, I push a button and step into the hot blast of water. I’d love to wash my hair – it’s gone wild from snow and wind and dry cabin air – but I don’t have time. Scrubbing with branded complementary shower gel and realising Alex is probably showering only a handful of feet away, my eyes slide shut. Imagine what he’d look like without his formal suit, stripped bare. Broad chest, long muscular arms and legs plus other interesting parts. He’s bound to be a dream naked. The man looks built. I bet he has a six-pack.

      I inhale sharply, nipples tightening, an answering throb between my legs. No, stop it. To shake loose the dirty thoughts, I turn the temperature down, gasping as the icy needles chill my skin. It does the trick, reining my hormones in. Turning the shower off, I step from the cubicle, whip off the shower cap and dry briskly with the fluffy bath sheets, finishing up with lashings of moisturiser. Applying light make-up, I unpin and brush out my hair, tying it in a messy topknot and spraying it with gloss-effect hairspray.

      Darting into the bedroom, I tug on underwear, ignoring the horrible slide of fabric on cream-dampened skin. Scrambling into the dress, I adjust it to sit right on my waist and hips and hold my boobs in. Threading on dangly jet black earrings and a matching chunky necklace, I spray on perfume before bucketing around the room for a quick tidy. I check my watch as I strap it back on. 8.13 p.m. Last thing is to slide my size-eight elephant feet into black suede-effect stiletto heels.

      Although expected, the loud rap at the door still makes me jump.

      ‘It’s Alex,’ his voice is muffled, ‘ready?’

      ‘Yes,’ I holler, ‘come in.’

      Alex enters as I’m reaching across the bed to grab my clutch bag.

      ‘That,’ his voice sounds strangled, ‘is impressive.’

      Standing, I note the new form-fitting black suit and pale-blue shirt that sets off his eyes spectacularly. No tie tonight, top button undone. I prefer the slightly more casual look on him and gulp. ‘Thanks. I said I’d be ready in time.’ I can’t help gloating.

      He smiles, acknowledging my victory. ‘Yes, you did, though I was talking about– Ah, never mind, you look very smart.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Smart? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so deflated by a compliment. It’s not as if we’re on a date, it’s a work dinner and we’re just colleagues, but would it have killed him to dream up something better than you look smart? It’s what Mum said on the first day of school or what Gran might remark about one of my more modest dresses. Huh. ‘Shall we go then?’ Moving past Alex, I grab the door handle.

      ‘Charley.’

      ‘Yes?’ I’m startled to find my nose practically pressed against his shirt front when I spin around. Too close. Way too close. He smells gorgeous and my knees go liquid.

      He puts some room between us. ‘I was just going to say that … ’ he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

      ‘Yes?’ A long uncomfortable pause follows. ‘What is it?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      A silence drags out. I’m ultra aware of my bare legs and tiny underwear, the raw urge to bridge the distance to him, push my hands into that thick, dark hair and kiss him. I tighten my grip around the door handle, using it to anchor me to reality. It’s difficult. His eyes are so blue staring into them all day would be no hardship at all.

      ‘I mean, I just remembered,’ he says in a deep rock-star husky voice, ‘that I need to make a quick call.’

      I blink. Now, just as we’re going to dinner? After how keen he was for me to be ready on time? It must be important. It’s after office

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